


La Belle Petite Morte

by Adara_Rose



Series: the x-rated collection [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Passion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4461608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adara_Rose/pseuds/Adara_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing you really come aware of is the flower arrangement you made earlier in the day is a mess on the floor. A mess is also a good way to describe the look on His face: he looks wrecked, ruined, frantic, ecstatic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Belle Petite Morte

_Harry -_

 

The position is vaguely awkward, but the way his cock hits that magical spot inside has you clawing at his back, squealing like a bitch being thoroughly reamed. And gods, are you getting reamed. His hips piston so damn hard and fast every thrust forces a whimper from your throat, too breathless to scream his name or anything but “yes! yes! yes!”, and that is apparently all the encouragement he needs to nail your ass like it’s a race to the finish and he’s going for gold. You’re going to be horribly sore tomorrow, but the pure ecstasy ringing through your veins has you so far beyond caring it’s- ah, fuck, he’s so good at this! The edge of the table digs into the back of your thighs, the painting is painful against your back and you will have bruises all over tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter as long as he keeps nailing you like that. His cock is like a fucking iron bar ramming into your ass, making your whole body jolt with every thrust. You’re sweating like a pig, your thighs shaking with the need to release, but you don’t want him to stop. Never, ever stop. Gods, to feel him like this forever, to be locked in carnal bliss with him like this, him rutting between your thighs, his hands gripping the end table for support, groaning into your ear as he fucks - yes, gods yes. Your eyes are focused somewhere beyond his head, staring blankly at nothing as your body sings with rapture, but even as far gone as you are you can see the door opening and someone entering. No, not someone. It’s her. Shit.

 

+++

 

_GInny -_

 

The shock has to be why you’re standing immobile in the doorway, just staring at the scene before you. The first thing you really come aware of is the flower arrangement you made earlier in the day and placed on the end table: now it’s on the floor, the stems of the flowers broken and the petals torn. The vase has cracked in two, and the floor is a mess. A mess is also a good way to describe the look on His face: he looks wrecked, ruined, frantic, ecstatic. His lips are swollen with kisses in a way you’ve never seen them before, but then again you’ve never kissed him with force, have you? His gorgeous green eyes are unfocused, hazy with pleasure, but when they notice you they become clear, panicked. You’re vaguely amazed that he doesn’t even attempt to stop the activity taking place in the room: this chocolate-skinned familiar stranger, you are not sure who he is, fucking him so hard it must be painful, rutting between his bare thighs like a beast. His trousers are on the floor along with the boxers you bought him for his birthday last week, his shirt open - you can see a glimpse of his bare stomach now and then when the man shifts - and Harry’s gorgeous like this, isn’t he? Stunningly beautiful, with that look of wild pleasure on his face. As you stand there, watching in a mixture of shock and awe at the beauty of these two writhing in pleasure in front of you, His mouth twists in a hoarse cry of pleasure, interrupting the breathless chant of “yes! yes! yes!” that has been falling from kiss-swollen lips since you entered the room, possibly even before then. His entire body is shaking with ecstasy, The look on his face becoming even wilder as his face contorts in a way you know well - he’s having an orgasm from this, and you know that the vague hope that you might have been witnessing a forced union is gone. This is not a rapist pressing him up against the wall, taking him like this. It’s a lover, and a passionate one. He whimpers and shakes and writhes in pleasure, then it seems to be over and he collapses back against the wall, knocking the painting slightly askew. You like that painting, but you will never be able to look at it again. But curiously, even though he has just come, the man between his legs doesn’t stop for one instant, riding him in the same brutal way he has been all the time you’ve been watching, and he sobs slightly as his body starts to shake for a second time, and you wonder what’s happening. He can’t be coming again, surely?

 

+++

 

_Blaise -_

 

You are fully aware that you have an audience; it amuses you to know that she is watching what you are doing to him. What he begged you to do, in fact. Then again, you didn’t need much convincing, did you? He is gorgeous with his dark hair and lithe form, both with his clothes on and half-naked like this, perched at the end of this hideous end table, nude from the waist down, shirt hanging open, hard and wet and wrecked and irresistible. somewhere in the distance the sounds of the party can be heard, but your senses are filled with the smacking of flesh on flesh, the obscene squelching as your cock rams into his well-lubed ass, his breathless moans and cries as you bring him pleasure that he has never known before. You know this because you are the first man to ever take him like this, to own and possess him and wreck him like this, making him your gorgeous, squealing bitch. He is hot like a furnace inside, and you can feel your shirt sticking to your skin, wet with sweat from the carnal act you’re participating in. You know that your pace is brutal, on the edge of punishing, but there is no way in hell you’re going to slow down now. He feels too good, like he was made to receive you, and even if you wanted to you probably couldn’t stop. His nails digging into your shoulders, ripping the fabric of your shirt, only encourages you to fuck him even harder, knowing full well that you are leaving bruises. His breathless moans and encouraging cries tell you that he’s enjoying it as much as you are, even though none of you are touching his prick, standing stiff and proud between your bodies. Gods, he is gorgeous like this, taking all you have to give and wanting more. You want to have him like this forever. You bend your knees slightly to shove your dick in just a bit deeper and that’s all it takes; he wails continuously as he comes, shaking and trembling on your cock, keening with pleasure. His hole contracts so hard around your cock it’s nearly painful, but you’re not done with him yet. You are still hard, so gloriously hard, and you keep riding him with the same intensity as you have been up to this point, giving in to the urge to fuck and fuck and fuck until neither of you can move. He sinks back against the wall, boneless, exhausted, whimpering breathlessly, but you keep going. Almost there, so close, but not quite. His second orgasm take you both by surprise; you’ve never fucked a guy into an anal orgasm before. His entire body is convulsing around your cock, the look on his face is one of pure shock and mindless ecstasy as his hole clenches and unclenches around your cock, his fingers tangling in your hair, a long drawn-out cry of ecstasy breaks from his lips as he comes apart in front of you. That’s all it takes, you slam home one last time and come, come like you’ve never come before. It never seems to end as you empty your balls in him, pressing as close as you can without actually becoming a part of him. And he is still shaking, quivering, his ass contracting around you. Gods, he’s still coming!

 

+++

 

_Harry -_

 

Your brain is blissed out, lost, your body over-sensitized and over-stimulated, but gods you’re still having an orgasm. This is more than you’ve felt in your life; your thighs are locking up, your passage clenching and unclenching rhythmically like a woman’s when she’s finding her pleasure, your cock is lying limp against your stomach in a puddle of come but gods the pleasure doesn’t seem to end, sweeping over you in wave after wave of mindless ecstasy. You are too hoarse to make any noise at this point, your mouth hanging open in a soundless scream of pleasure bordering on pain as wave after wave crashes over you; it’s too much, you can’t take it, you want it to stop, and at the same time you want more. Want it to last forever. It doesn’t, of course, even the torrents of pleasure fade eventually and you come back to yourself, exhausted and more sore than you’ve ever felt in your life. The man who has just given you the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt in your life is leaning against you, peppering kisses to your sweaty neck, his hands stroking your heaving back comfortingly. You turn your head and press a grateful kiss to his lips, which immediately part and your tongue slips into that warm moist cavern still tasting vaguely of champagne. That’s when you remember your wife watching you. You tear your mouth away from his and looks around in a panic, but she is no longer in the room. The only sign of her presence is that the door is slightly ajar. It is enough for you to feel slightly ashamed for what you have done, but not enough to not want to do it again. Preferably in the nearest bed. You stand on wobbly legs that immediately give out on you, and the man who looks at you with wild eyes laughs and supports you over to the sofa he kissed you on earlier. He helps you on with your soiled clothes, kissing the bruises on the inside of your thighs, dipping his tongue into your abused passage to taste himself. You whimper with pleasure, parting your thighs to provide better access.

 

+++

 

_Ginny -_

 

You twist and turn in your bed this night, unable to find rest or to sleep. All you see when you close your eyes is his face as what must have been a glorious orgasm hit him. He has never looked like that with you, you realise, and it’s a bitter truth to face. You wonder how much he truly loves you, or if he just settled for you, if you were second best all along. If he truly wanted dark skin and dark eyes, strong hands, and… well… what you saw earlier. Your… Harry - your mind shies away from the word _husband_ \- is a passionate man, and passionate men must sooner or later satisfy their passion. But your soul is in uproar at him choosing someone else to do so with. Chose a man. Chose _Blaise._ You find yourself relieved when the night moves on and he does not appear, does not lie next to you. You don’t think you’d be able to accept him in your bed, knowing exactly what his face looked like the moment he came whilst having sex with someone else. Finally you slip into an uneasy sleep, dreading the morning. Hoping that the man you saw with him will be gone with the morning, but on some level you know he will not. You wonder what you will tell the children.

 

+++

 

_Blaise -_

 

The early morning light touches your eyes like a lover, and you open them, finding yourself in an unfamiliar bed. Clothes are strewn over the floor, the sheets are rumpled, and the room reeks of sweat and bodily fluids. You lean back and look at the Hero of the Wizarding World, the man you fucked senseless all through the night. First up against the wall with the end table for support, on the sofa, twice more in the bed, the finale a passionate union in the claw-footed bathtub. The man you had made moan like a whore and howl like a bitch as you rode him, again and again and again. His nails has made stinging marks on your back, swollen bite marks on your neck, aches and bruises all over his body, and you remember the way he screamed your name in mindless ecstasy before coming so hard he lost consciousness. His pale skin in the sunlight is littered with bruises and passion marks. You itch to put a few more there. The rising sun turns his skin into molten gold, and you admire the contrast between his gold and your dark, burnished bronze. You suit each other in a way she never will. As his eyelashes flutter and sleepy green eyes slowly open to face the new day, you think that maybe she will finally realise that. Realise that he is yours much more than he has ever been hers.

 


End file.
